


Simple

by planetesastraea



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: All of the bad stuff happen in a flashback of sorts, Anal Sex, Betaed, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000, and worst of all, everything else is porn, naked knees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetesastraea/pseuds/planetesastraea
Summary: Geralt walks into a room and finds Jaskier wearing a kilt and all the blood in his brain suddenly flows downwards.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 46
Kudos: 237





	Simple

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: Slight angst / drama / canon-typical violence happening in a flashback bit. If you'd rather not read that, skip the paragraph that starts off with "The air". Everything else is Geraskier having the hots for each other! 
> 
> Big thanks to Liz for beta reading this ❤️

The day is supposed to be simple enough. Geralt has agreed to accompany Jaskier to one of his oldest friends’ wedding, a former classmate from Oxenfurt. The bard has made promises of a friendly, small town, good company and plenty of free food and since Geralt doesn’t have anywhere else to be, he grunts and follows. They arrive in town three days before the ceremony and everyone seems to know Jaskier. It’s a big village more than a small town but the wedding’s preparations animate the whole community, with people bustling around, hanging flowers here and ribbons there in the colours of the future husband and wife. The meals so far have filled their bellies more than their usual diet allows and people don’t seem to eye Geralt too closely, which is something he is always grateful for. In a word, everything has been going well - until now. 

It is not out of the ordinary for him to enter his and Jaskier’s room without knocking but this time the room is supposed to be his and his only. When he walks in, he definitely does not expect to find the bard there, let alone in this state of - well. He isn’t certain whether the word _undress_ would apply but the outfit certainly had something to do with the feeling of surprise that dawns on him. 

“Ah! Geralt! Here you are! You’ll have to forgive the intrusion, my friend, I had to try on my ceremony outfit again and the bride's maids of honour requisitioned my room - _my_ room, the groom’s third-best man and one and only most famous bard on the continent, can you believe this? Hair and makeup rehearsals apparently, something about the light in there, they said. Brides truly do get anything they want, I am telling you.”

“What are you wearing?” Geralt asks after absolutely not listening to a single word of Jaskier’s tirade. He shouldn't need to try so hard to keep his tone even but he knows how easily he could slip. He probably shouldn’t be staring either, he thinks, in a very far, small place in his mind but his body doesn’t give a fuck. He is immobilized, stuck in amber on the doorstep. Luckily he has the brains to close the door behind him before his legs walked him into this paralysing spell. His heart beats like he’s getting reading to fight a horde of ghouls and he cannot do anything. His throat is too tight, his trousers are becoming very much so as well, and his lips are parted like a beggar longing for a cup of water.

Jaskier's knees are nude. Of course, Jaskier’s nudity hasn’t been a problem in a very long time, if ever, but _that_ doesn't change _this_. Jaskier is wearing a very fine, embroidered white shirt that fits perfectly to his shoulders and waist. His doublets usually hide the shape of his body, making him seem slimmer, less built, as feeble as a man who has never worked for a day in his life nor ever had to run for it. Geralt hopes the one that matches Jaskier's outfit, currently laid on his bed as Jaskier stands in front of the room’s mirror, will fit him as well as the shirt does - or maybe it shouldn't. That would help Geralt keep more focus on the actual ceremony.

But if it was only the shirt, he wouldn't be standing there, with a boiling feeling in his lower belly and a rush of blood to his cock. Jaskier’s ceremonial outfit is a kilt. It falls along his hips handsomely, the fabric stopping above the knee slightly higher than Geralt thinks it’s usually supposed to. It shows significant skin above his knees so much so that Geralt can picture his hand there, slowly caressing Jaskier’s muscled thigh before disappearing under the fabric. He is fairly sure that Jaskier took some liberty with the stockings as well, only covering the lower half of his calves, the rest of his thoroughly hairy legs left in plain sight. To complete the outfit, he wears some brand new fine leather boots that contrast with the clear shade of his skin. 

“My _ceremony outfit_ is what I’m wearing! Damn you, Witcher, do you ever listen? What do you think anyway? Not too shabby, I dare hope?”

Geralt’s jaw is locked despite his best efforts. He tries to think of something, anything, that Jaskier would deem a satisfactory answer. “It’s fine,” he grunts between his teeth and he knows perfectly it’s not going to work.

“ _Fine_? Oh, Gods, even _you_ can tell it’s so last season. The seamstress in Castel Ravello said this pattern was all the rage but I knew we were walking a fine line between freshly trendy and way too common already.”

“Jaskier,” he interrupts, his voice deeper than before. 

“This just won’t do. We need to leave at once! If we leave now, we might be able to reach Beauclair before nightfall, find a proper seamstress and be back in time for the ceremony! I will pack our things, go ready Roach and -”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt grunts, a threat building in the tone of his voice.

“But Geralt -”

“It’s fine. It’s - It’s very,” he tries, “ _fine_.”

Jaskier blinks at him slowly then finally understands. 

"Oh. Well uh…thank you," he stammers, his shoulders visibly relaxing. Unconsciously, probably, he stands straighter, pushing his shoulders back and his chest forward. "I uh… The blue threads are a nice addition, aren’t they?" he asks, fussing with the folds on his kilt.

The dark blue lines threaded in the black and pine green tartan kilt do indeed match the embroidery at the sleeves and collar of his shirt, bringing out the colour of his clear blue eyes. They also are the very last thing on Geralt’s mind. He has to close his fists and make himself take a slow breath before he does something completely, utterly, irredeemably stupid. Something must show on his face that makes Jaskier ask. 

"Geralt, are you alright?"

It has happened before, a handful of times. It is not a habit but it’s not unheard of either. Their way of life calls for it. One can’t walk the path for so long with the same person without building intimacy. And if at first it is found in well-known habits and fond jokes, with time, bodies inevitably take over. The first time he fucked Jaskier - actually, _truly_ fucked him instead of just exchanging handjobs and hastily rutting against each other - was at the end of a dreadful day. 

The air was thick with the smell of smoke and Geralt could hear the racket and the screams coming from the village across the hill. Jaskier insisted they should go. “We have to try”, he said. But whatever had brought the group of Nilfgaardians to that small village so far away from the main roads, the locals had suffered the price. They weren’t a troop per se, more of a rogue handful of morons, drunk on wine and violence. They had burned everything. There wasn’t much left of the place by the time Geralt and Jaskier got there, mostly broken homes, bodies and bloody puddles. Trying wouldn’t fix the hollowed eyes and torn out souls of those who lived to remember the day.

Jaskier didn’t say a word for hours afterwards. They rode in silence, looking straight ahead. Once they reached the inn, paid an overly pricey sum for watered-down broth and a room for the night, Jaskier seemed to be burning on the inside. Something was building up in his veins and Geralt hoped he wouldn’t have to stop him from starting a brawl with the downstairs drunk but the bard stepped out of his shoes and started to undress. Geralt took it as a sign that, after all, Jaskier would try to find comfort in sleep. The witcher discarded his own boots and clothes, and caught the bard’s eye as he stood there naked. Jaskier stared, immobile, before he walked the few steps across the room and, still looking into Getalt's eyes, let his trousers pool around his ankles. His jaw was set, his chin high and his movements calculated as he stepped out of his trousers and walked into Geralt’s space. _I dare you_ , his face said. Jaskier raised a hand slowly, making sure he was giving Geralt the chance to decline the offer - or rather, the _demand_ , and then settled it at the back of the Witcher’s neck. Then he dug his nails into Geralt’s skin, grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t kind and soft and caring. It was hungry and rough, raw and determined, and it was the best fuck Geralt had in forever. He pushed the bard onto his back and fucked him into the bed until they couldn’t breathe as they both pulled and scratched and bit at each other’s skin with the hunger of those who need to remember they're alive. 

The events of that day weren't responsible for the slight adjustment to their relationship. They both know the physical attraction came first, the desire deeply ingrained. So they deal with it: they find each other when either of them requires a physical release they cannot find elsewhere. And, mostly, they don’t talk about it. And thus, things are simple. 

Geralt blinks as Jaskier asks again, “Geralt, you look odd. Is something the matter ?” 

The Witcher groans and caves. It only takes him a couple of strides to cross the room, grab Jaskier’s shirt and crush their lips together. Jaskier gasps with surprise and probably offence that Geralt might crease the fabric, but he quickly finds his footing again and gets right back into the dance. Geralt's hands quickly find their way under the kilt and Jaskier gasps again. 

"Ah," he moans softly as Geralt grabs the flesh of his bottom and pushes him against the nearby writing desk, causing the furniture to scrape against the floor. He steps between Jaskier's legs and despite Geralt having a head-start, it doesn't take much time before Jaskier's cock hardens against his. The bard moans and he reaches for the ties of Geralt's trousers, deftly untying the knots without even needing to look at them. Geralt's fingers keep digging into the soft flesh of his ass and his mouth finds Jaskier's throat, sucking and digging his teeth into a spot that makes Jaskier squirm. As soon as the ties of his trousers are undone, Geralt turns the bard around and bends him over the desk. A moan escapes Jaskier's lips and he swears, grabbing the edge of the desk with one hand and pumping his cock with the other. 

“Oil,” Jaskier gasps and Geralt groans. As if he could forget the basics. He leaves the bard and rummages through his pack, perfectly aware that Jaskier is looking at him over his shoulder while he touches himself. He gets his hand on the vial and is back against Jaskier’s ass in a blink, impatiently lowering his own trousers above his knees. He coats his fingers and cock heavily, making oil drip against the crack of Jaskier’s ass and tosses the small bottle on the desk, almost spilling the content. 

“Carefu-” Jaskier starts admonishing him and gets cut off as Geralt slides two fingers up his ass. “- _Ah! Ah yes, ah Gods yes_ -”

“Fuck,” Geralt swears as his fingers slip in and out easily, the muscles of Jaskier’s ass soft and relaxed around his fingers. “Did you get fucked already? How are you so - _fuck_ ,” he grunts, the flow of words gone before he can even stop himself. 

“Ah,” Jaskier moans, pushing himself against Geralt’s fingers every time he pulls back. “I di - I didn’t,” he gasps as Geralt grabs one of his legs and has Jaskier tuck it under his body, leaving his cheeks wide open. 

“You’re ready,” Geralt argues and Jaskier mistakes it for a question. 

“Gods, yes, I’m ready, I’m ready, come on -'' he repeats all in one breath until Geralt’s fingers leave his ass and he pushes the tip of his cock slowly into Jaskier. “Fuck, Geralt,” he cries out, bending forward as much he can. Geralt pushes slow and steady into him until he covers Jaskier's body with his, reaching out to clutch at the edge of the desk right next to Jaskier's knuckle-white hand. He fucks him with brief, powerful thrusts, the room perfectly silent but for the rhythmic grunts and moans coming from both of their mouths and the constant beat of flesh slapping against flesh. If at some point Geralt's hand slips and lands over Jaskier's as he reaches to grip the desk again, neither of them will mention it.

“I didn’t -” Jaskier starts, then moans as Geralt’s cock hits the perfect spot. “I didn’t get fucked, _ah_ ,” he manages and Geralt only grunts in response even though his thrusts get a little rougher and his grip tightens onto the thigh of Jaskier’s bent leg. “ _Ah_ \- fuck, you bastard -” he groans and blurts out, “I touched myself!”

Geralt slows down, thrown off, before he finds his rhythm again. “Why didn’t you -” he shouldn’t talk about this. 

“I saw - _ah, fuck, yes, like that_ \- I saw you and Marla -”

“I didn’t -” he groans despite himself and Jaskier cuts him off again. 

“I know -”, he breathes, “I thought you weren’t- _ah_ , in the mood, _fuck, fuck_ -” 

Since when have things with Jaskier ever been simple, anyway?

“Maybe I - _ah_ , maybe I was in the mood for something else,” he grunts and thrusts into him until Jaskier is too busy moaning to say another word. He feels Jaskier’s leg shaking under the weight of them and groans, slowly straightening his back and letting go of Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier whimpers as he grabs onto his hips and fucks himself back onto his cock until Geralt’s grip on his hips becomes bruising. He can feel Jaskier tighten around him, searching for greater friction, and he watches his pelvis slap against the bard’s ass in his steady, cadenced movements until the flap of the kilt slips down over them. 

“Geralt - Geralt, I’m n- I’m not gonna last, please -” Jaskier begs and Geralt moves an arm around his waist, reaching under the garment and lets Jaskier fuck into his oiled hand. 

"I c- I can't - I'll ruin the - _ah_ \- ah, _fuck_ , Geralt -"

“Jask-”

Geralt comes inside of him. His grunts turn into a shout as he lets himself go, frantically thrusting into Jaskier until the heat slowly recedes and brings him back to the here and now. Jaskier is still moaning softly, breathing out a litany of fucks as he rests his forehead against the desk. Geralt reaches for the bard's cock again but Jaskier whimpers. 

"Nnn-o. I'm gonna come all over the kilt, I can't ruin it, I c-" he breathes while trying to keep control over his body. Geralt chuckles and slowly slips out of him, making sure to hold the fabric away from any smears of oil and come.

"Turn around," he croaks and Jaskier complies carefully. He is out of breath, flushed and positively dishevelled. He looks absolutely obscene and Geralt can't stop himself. He grabs the man’s face and kisses him, and it’s sloppy because his whole body and mind are soft within the comforting embrace one feels after rapture, and Jaskier is still burning with hunger but he doesn’t give the slightest fuck. He walks Jaskier a step back against the desk again and whispers "Just hold it," as he hands him the fabric of the kilt he was still holding up and kneels in between the bard's thighs. 

Jaskier sighs in anticipation before Geralt even touches him and throws his head back, which is his way of trying to focus on the ceiling and breathe control back into his body. Control isn't something Geralt wants Jaskier to have right now. He takes hold of Jaskier's cock and swallows it down expertly, his hand firm at the base of the shaft as Jaskier whimpers more and more desperately. He sucks on his cock with eagerness, closing his eyes and enjoying the thick weight on his tongue and between his lips. Jaskier slaps the desk with a hand as he cries "Fuck!" and Geralt grabs the bard’s legs and settles them over his shoulder, feeling the heel of Jaskier's boot in his back as he tries to get him as close as possible without choking him between his thighs. 

"Geralt - _ah, Geralt_ , _please_ \- _please, please,_ I need to come, _please_!"

When Geralt finally allows Jaskier to come, the whole floor probably hears him shout. He fucks into Geralt's mouth, not giving a single thought to whether the kilt might get stained, and, well spent, lies back against the desk. 

"Oh gods," he breathes after a while and Geralt smiles despite himself, then hums in agreement. 

"If I had known," Jaskier breathes, gesturing vaguely, "I would have," he says, not bothering to finish his sentence, stretching his body against the desk with a groan of pleasure. Simple. After some time, he sits back up and looks at Geralt, who has moved to sit against the bed, eyes closed, satiated and satisfied. 

"You know what we should do?" Jaskier asks and Geralt opens an eye, tilting his head towards him.

"Hmm?" he replies and sees the glint of mischief in Jaskier’s eyes before the words make it to his lips. 

"We should definitely get you one."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thank for reading! I hope you enjoyed this. It is my first Explicit work and if I did anything right, it's all thanks to all the amazing explicit writers in this fandom!
> 
> I usually invite people who are uncomfortable with writing comments to drop a heart emoji... But I'm thinking maybe this time a flame emoji might be more appropriate? 🔥  
> Thank you again for reading!!


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